Chapter 5: Poolside Chaos Aftermath

After the rooftop disaster, the least I could do was make sure my accidental wolf guest didn’t leave a trail of wet footprints across the entire suite.

That was how I ended up in the master bathroom, watching Lunaria crouch beside the tub and study the controls like they were a hostile puzzle designed to test her intelligence and lose.

“This is complicated,” she muttered.

“It’s a faucet.”

She pressed one of the buttons.

Nothing happened.

Then she pressed another.

Still nothing.

Then a third.

I stepped in before she somehow activated a hidden emergency system and got us both investigated.

“It’s literally just on and off,” I said, leaning past her and turning the knob. Water rushed into the tub immediately, warm and steaming, and Lunaria gasped like I’d just performed high-level sorcery.

“Whoa.”

“It’s plumbing.”

“That was incredible.”

That was depressing.

At that point, it had become very obvious she was not going to figure out the shower on her own in any reasonable amount of time. I grabbed a towel, rolled up my sleeves, and pointed toward the little stool near the shower area.

“Sit.”

She obeyed instantly.

That should have made me feel more in control than it did.

I adjusted the temperature, picked up the detachable shower head, and started rinsing her hair. Lunaria made a small, happy sound and tipped her head slightly so I could reach better. Up close, her ears twitched under the stream, softer-looking than they had any right to be. Damp now. Slightly droopy.

Curiosity got me before dignity could intervene.

“…Can I touch them?”

She looked up at me, surprised.

Then nodded.

“Okay. But be gentle.”

I reached out carefully and brushed my fingers over one of her ears.

Soft.

Warm.

Real.

Lunaria let out a quiet little hum and leaned into the touch without thinking, shifting closer to my hand with the kind of trusting ease that should not have affected me as much as it did. She tilted her face up slightly and smiled.

And that was the problem.

Not the ears.

Not the tail.

Not the fact that I was currently helping a wolf girl wash her hair in my bathroom like this was somehow my evening now.

The problem was the smile.

It was small. Honest. Uncomplicated. The kind of smile that slipped straight through your defenses before you even had time to object.

Then my brain ruined everything by noticing the rest of her.

Wet hair clinging to her cheeks. Water catching on her lashes. Bare shoulders. The very unfair fact that she looked—

I yanked my hand back like it had touched a live wire.

“I’m leaving you to it,” I said, far too fast.

Before she could answer, I threw a towel at her head and turned around so quickly I nearly walked into the wall on my way out. I made it into the hallway, shut the bathroom door behind me, and stood there with my back against it like I had just escaped an active threat.

My heart was beating way too hard for someone who had merely touched a wet animal-girl’s ear.

What the hell was that.

No.

Absolutely not.

I refused to be one of those pathetic idiots who lost all mental function the second a pretty girl smiled at them. This was exhaustion. Stress. Shock. A deeply unreasonable day stacked on top of an even more unreasonable evening.

That was all.

Definitely not because the wolf girl had looked at me like I was her whole world.

A small disappointed whine came through the door.

I closed my eyes.

This is going to be a long night.

xXx

After I had regained the bare minimum amount of self-respect required to function, I dragged Lunaria down the hallway toward one of the guest rooms.

There were plenty to choose from. Too many, honestly. That was the problem with living in a place designed for rich people with more money than practical sense. Every room was large enough to host emotional damage comfortably.

Lunaria, on the other hand, seemed thrilled.

She spun in the middle of the room the second we stepped inside, silver hair flying behind her while she took in the bed, the curtains, the lights, the velvet chair in the corner, and probably the general concept of indoor shelter.

“This one!”

“They’re all basically the same.”

She buried her face in one of the pillows and inhaled deeply.

“Nope. This one smells nicest.”

I looked at her.

Then at the pillow.

Then decided there were some sentences I was better off not engaging with.

Instead, I leaned against the doorframe and crossed my arms.

“Alright. Start from the beginning. How did you end up crashing into my rooftop pool?”

Lunaria flopped backward onto the bed with no concern at all for gravity, posture, or basic furniture etiquette. She hugged one of the pillows to her chest and stared up at the ceiling for a second, thinking.

“I used to live in the forest,” she said finally. “With other wolves.”

That part, by itself, sounded almost normal.

Then she smiled a little, but the smile didn’t hold.

“They didn’t want me there anymore.”

Something in my chest tightened.

I did not enjoy that.

“I walked for a really long time,” she continued, voice lighter now, like she was trying to skip over the part that mattered. “I ate fruit sometimes. And bugs once, but that was an emergency and I don’t want to talk about it. Then I smelled something really, really good.”

I frowned.

“What.”

She sat up slightly, excited again.

“Food! Rich people food!”

That was apparently the answer.

“I followed it,” she said. “It was faster from the rooftops, so I jumped a lot, and then I misjudged one of them, and then—”

She spread both hands dramatically.

“Splash.”

I stared at her.

That was it.

That was the explanation.

She had scent-tracked expensive cooking like a giant feral golden retriever and overshot a building.

“…You could have died.”

“Nope.”

She bounced once on the mattress to demonstrate.

“I’m sturdy.”

That was not a reassuring adjective.

I dragged a hand over my face. “That is not how safety works.”

“It worked this time.”

“That is not a defense.”

She either didn’t hear the difference or simply didn’t care. Possibly both.

Then, without warning, she shifted closer to the edge of the bed and looked up at me.

I narrowed my eyes.

“What.”

“Can I sleep with you tonight?”

I went still.

The room went still.

Even my soul seemed to leave my body briefly just to avoid being present for that sentence.

“No.”

The answer came out instantly.

Firm.
Decisive.
Correct.

Lunaria’s ears drooped.

“But why?”

“Because no.”

“That’s not a reason.”

“Because you have your own bed now.”

“That’s not a reason either.”

I stared at her.

She stared back.

There was absolutely no shame in her expression. Just honest confusion, like she had asked whether she could borrow a blanket and could not understand why I was reacting like the universe had just cracked in half.

“I don’t know this place,” she said, hugging the pillow tighter. “What if I wake up and get lonely?”

“You’ll survive.”

“What if I cry?”

“I don’t think you will.”

She made the tiniest, saddest little sound.

I hate that sound.

Her ears drooped even lower. Her tail curled inward. The whole performance would have felt manipulative if she had looked even slightly smarter about it. Unfortunately, she just looked genuinely pitiful.

I held out for three seconds.

Maybe four.

Then I lost.

“…Fine,” I muttered. “Just for tonight.”

Lunaria lit up like I had just handed her full legal ownership of happiness.

“Really?!”

Before I could revise the decision, she launched herself at me.

Again.

I caught her on instinct and nearly fell backward from the force of it.

“Why do you keep doing that?!”

“Because I’m happy!”

“Can you be happy from a safer distance?”

She laughed right into my shoulder, warm and bright and far too comfortable already. It took me several deeply annoyed seconds to peel her off and reestablish a distance that felt medically safer.

Eventually, I got her back onto the bed and took one careful step away.

Then another.

Then I pointed at her.

“One night.”

She nodded enthusiastically.

“One night.”

“You do not get to make this a habit.”

“Okay!”

That answer was suspiciously fast.

I did not trust it.

Still, there was nothing else to do now except survive until morning and hope I didn’t regret every life decision that had led to me sharing my home with an affectionate supernatural disaster.

Given my luck so far, that hope was probably doomed.